Page 6 of Equalizer (Sharps & Springfield #2)

Chapter 6

Owen

N ow that you’ve had a chance to think about it, what did you make of the galvanism demonstration?” Owen asked as he, Louisa, and Calvin awaited their dinner. Owen had slipped the waiter money to ensure they had a quiet table where they could talk without being overheard at a restaurant Louisa chose for its reputation for discretion.

“Nauseating.” Louisa cradled her teacup in both hands. “Not exactly how I envisioned progress to look.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Calvin said. “It was definitely…disturbing.”

“Gordon is a showman, I’ll give him that,” Owen said. “Although I’m skeptical that he’s really a doctor.”

“Actually, that part is true. He’s a veterinarian, although he lost his license over some dubious dealings,” Louisa remarked. “That doesn’t surprise me. But I still doubt that he’s the mastermind behind the transplant scheme.”

“I agree.” Calvin refilled his cup from the teapot on the table. “The people who want to benefit from the parts will also want discretion. Gordon knows how to live large and attract attention. I can’t imagine anyone trusting him with their secrets.”

“Which means that while we now have a very visceral impression of the core process, we still don’t know who is behind the body thieves and offering the procedure.” Owen sighed.

“About that.” Louisa shot them a crafty smile. “I have an idea of how we might find out more.”

“Do tell.” Owen enjoyed their teasing rapport. He never worried that Louisa would take his casual flirting seriously knowing that she liked both men and women.

“Have you heard of the First Ward Ball?” At their blank expressions, Louisa’s smile grew. “Oh my, you are in for a treat. You know that Chicago runs on grift and graft, right?” They nodded, and she continued.

“It’s the most notorious party in the city—and considering Chicago, that’s saying a lot. The party is a who’s who of the city’s politicians, mobsters, madams, shady ladies, and thrill seekers, all of whom line the pockets of two aldermen,” Louisa said.

“Even the police captains show up. Every year, the ball manages to scandalize in new and amazing ways. Everyone gets drunk and rowdy, mistakes are made, and new blackmail material is collected,” she went on. “And I can get you in.”

Owen and Calvin exchanged a look. “We’ll be recognized. We’ve already met several of the local deplorables.”

“A little magic can fix that for an evening.” Louisa gave a dismissive wave. “Have you gents heard of Pearl Hart?” They shook their heads, and she went on.

“Pearl lives by her own rules. She’s been a lot of things, most of them illegal. However, she made a name for herself as a cowboy of sorts. She also has been one of our informants for several years, which has kept her out of jail,” Louisa said. “And she loves a good party.”

“How—” Calvin asked.

Louisa grinned. “Pearl’s something of a celebrity in certain quarters. She’s not tame enough for the Wild West show, where the men are men and the women swoon. I suspect Pearl could whup most of those duded-up pretenders with one hand tied behind her back. But I’m quite sure she would be very happy to attend the First Ward Ball—and report back on what she overhears—if I buy her a ticket.”

They paused as the waiter took their order and refreshed their drinks, then returned with a basket of warm bread and fresh butter.

“All well and good, but where do we factor into it?” Calvin asked.

“You would be her escorts,” Louisa replied. “Owen has some experience out West we can draw on, and you can just look pretty and stick close,” she added with a smirk. “I’ve seen Pearl work a room and there’s no one better. Since even the big crime bosses show up at the ball, it’s a perfect way to drop bait in the water and see who bites.”

Owen and Calvin exchanged a glance. “Risky if we’re recognized,” Owen said. “But I agree that it’s a rare opportunity to have the most likely suspects all in one place.”

“Even if the people behind the transplants aren’t at the ball, certainly someone in that group will have heard something,” Calvin agreed.

Owen doubted it would be quite that easy, but he nodded in agreement. “It wouldn’t be the dodgiest caper we ever pulled.”

“Great! Then I’ll get in touch with Pearl and make arrangements.” Louisa beamed. “I think the three of you will get on great.”

“Is this a black-tie event?” Calvin asked.

“There will certainly be plenty of people dressed to the nines. Tuxes wouldn’t be amiss. I wouldn’t be surprised if Pearl wears one herself—or a Western version, at least. She’s not the ball gown sort of girl.” Louisa winked. “And you’ll want to make sure you’ve got your guns. Come the wee hours, the party gets very…uninhibited.”

“I feel like we’re not getting the whole story,” Calvin said. “We’ll do our best work if we know what’s really going on.”

Once again, conversation paused for the server, who brought them fresh salads with chicken and hard-boiled egg, more hot bread, and a plate of ginger cookies for dessert.

“The First Ward Ball raises money for the two aldermen by requiring all the businesses that want favors or protection to buy plenty of tickets and underwrite the liquor,” Louisa told them. “The party itself is as scandalous as you’d imagine, especially once the booze starts flowing.”

“And no one’s shut it down?” Owen had trouble believing such open bacchanalia managed to continue.

“Oh, they try,” Louisa assured him. “And one of these years, they probably will. But there are also plenty of socialites looking for a walk on the wild side who come early and leave before it gets too out of hand. That’s the sweet spot you’ll want to hit because once the clothes start coming off, no one is interested in dishing gossip.”

Owen shuddered. “Yeah, I think we want to miss that part.”

“Pearl’s something of a celebrity in certain quarters,” Louisa said. “She’s managed to stay out of jail—sometimes with our help—but she has a penchant for shortcuts that aren’t entirely legal. Plus, she’s not the kind of woman most people have ever encountered—and she plays that to her advantage. I guarantee she’ll have the Mob bosses practically courting her before the party runs off the rails.”

“What’s her cover?” Calvin asked.

“She’s going as herself, but the story she’ll dangle is that a good friend who was a star on the rodeo circuit got hurt in an accident and messed up his foot too badly to ride again. We’ll see if someone offers up an alternative—for the right money,” Louisa replied.

It could work—if we’re not recognized, Owen thought.

“How likely are the Mob witches to be there? Or any witches,” Calvin asked. “They’ll spot a glamour right away. It’s a bit like walking into the lion’s den.”

“There’s always risk,” Louisa said dismissively. “But while I trust Pearl to work the room, she doesn’t fully understand the case, so she may not recognize important information. I don’t really want to bring her into the inner circle on this. She is a criminal, after all.”

Owen tested his sixth sense, but although he read caution he didn’t get a feeling of imminent danger.

“How sure are you that she won’t double-cross us?” Calvin asked.

“Reasonably,” Louisa replied. “I think that’s unlikely. For one thing, it behooves her to keep me on her good side. I’ve helped her sidestep some scrapes with the law because she’s been useful, but that stops if she goes rogue. I can’t say what she’d do if it came down to you or her, but I don’t have the sense that she’ll sell you out short of that.”

Although there’s no way to know for certain , Owen thought. Then again, we’ve worked with dicey helpers before. It turned out okay—so far…

“How do we make contact?” Owen asked.

“Let me get in touch with Pearl, and I’ll let you know. The ball isn’t until the weekend, so there’s time to make arrangements,” Louisa replied.

“Anything else?” Calvin asked.

“My friend Ida, the reporter, has an in on a doctor who can repair serious burns and injuries by taking a patch of skin from somewhere else and using it to cover the wound,” Louisa told them excitedly. “Usually, they take the skin from the person who needs the repair. But sometimes they use skin from a pig—or a cadaver.”

Owen raised an eyebrow. “Is that openly done?”

Louisa shrugged. “I don’t think they’re shouting that part from the rooftops, but it’s not a secret in medical circles. The technique is pretty new and came from Europe. As I understand it, the animal or cadaver grafts are meant to be temporary, but still…there’s always the possibility for more.”

“I can’t believe they haven’t had an outcry from the Church,” Calvin said.

“Maybe they have. I only just learned about the technique,” Louisa replied. “And if they did, it hasn’t stopped them. Ida is getting me in as a reporter to watch a procedure. As I understand it, the cadaver skin has to be very recent, but that isn’t a far cry from harvesting a foot or a hand—the corpse would have to be fresh and kept preserved.”

“And you’re thinking it’s not a big step to go from transplanting a thyroid or a piece of skin to something like a new arm,” Owen summarized.

“Just a matter of scale, don’t you think?” Louisa asked.

“I imagine a doctor might quibble with that, but as a layman, it would certainly seem likely.” Calvin looked as unsettled as Owen felt at the thought.

“I’ll let you know how that goes,” Louisa promised. “It’s a couple of days from now at the big hospital. I’ll also keep my eyes and ears open in case anyone else is observing and ask plenty of questions.”

“You think some of the same players might be involved?” Owen asked.

Louisa frowned. “I think the medical community is small and tight-knit. Everyone knows everyone else, even if there are professional rivalries. I also suspect that they love to gossip. Even if someone opposed the idea of transplanting skin, organs, or body parts, it’s the kind of thing people talk about.”

“To a reporter?” Calvin looked skeptical.

“Maybe, maybe not. But Ida and I agree that most of what we learn is from listening to other people’s conversations, even if they aren’t talking to us,” Louisa said.

Once the bill was paid, they parted company on the sidewalk outside.

“I’ll arrange for you and Pearl to meet,” Louisa said. “Someplace neutral so you can both size each other up. Of course, there’s no guarantee that the ball will be a source of information, but I’d lay bets otherwise. Those folks stay alive and in business by keeping up with everything that goes on in this city, and the kind of people who attend the ball have more reasons than many to be able to survive and bounce back from an attack. I think odds are good that you’ll pick up good information. Talk to you soon.”

Owen and Calvin watched her walk away. “I guess we need to break out the tuxes,” Owen said. “And figure out how many weapons we can carry in case we have to fight our way out if our cover gets blown.”

“Never a dull moment,” Calvin agreed.

Back at the Pullman, Calvin and Owen examined their tuxedos to ensure they were ready for a night on the town.

“I’m still not sure about trusting a glamour to hide us from being recognized,” Calvin fretted.

“It’s a masked ball,” Owen pointed out. “We should be able to get some fancy partial masks that do the trick. No one is going to be expecting to see us there.”

Calvin looked skeptical, but before he responded, the telegraph began to click.

“I’ve got it,” Winston called from the study. They joined him moments later, and he looked up from where he had written down the message.

“It’s from Louisa. She says Pearl agreed and that she’ll meet you at a coffee shop she mentions so that you can arrive together,” Winston translated.

“Please let her know we’re fine with that,” Owen said, and Winston tapped out the reply.

“If I may ask—” Winston began.

“Absolutely. We’re going to need your help.” Owen recounted the plan they had concocted with Louisa, including the need for a glamour to hide their identities.

“That’s going to be a very interesting evening,” Winston observed. “Your own tuxedos are too high quality for bodyguards. I will obtain two that are more suitable for this event. I can also devise a spell to hide your true faces. Such things can only last a few hours, but it should be enough to get you in, give you time to mingle, and get away.”

“We don’t know if there will be witches there, but it seems likely,” Calvin said. “Will they see through the glamour?”

Winston looked thoughtful. “A lot depends on how strong the witch is. But in a crowd, the disguise should hold unless the witch focuses their attention on you. Seeing you in passing without that focus should maintain the glamour. Notice that I said ‘should.’ A very powerful witch might not be fooled.”

“Great,” Owen muttered.

“In a crowded room, you may well be able to evade detection,” Winston said. “Given the nature of the guests, you’re probably not going to be the only ones with a need to hide your identity. As long as the glamour isn’t highly unusual, it might be overlooked as just another sort of mask.”

“And if it doesn’t get overlooked?” Calvin asked.

“Then I suggest you carry your usual weapons,” Winston deadpanned.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Owen shuddered. “It’s not the sort of crowd I want to fight my way out of.”

“Louisa said that even the police attend,” Calvin pointed out. “I’d prefer not to be found out, but if we are, they may just assume that we’re on the take like the rest of them.”

“Not something I’m usually happy about, but it could come in handy,” Owen agreed.

“Louisa sent us.” Owen approached the woman who met the description his friend had given them. Pearl Hart was handsome, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones accentuated by a short, boyish haircut only partly camouflaged by a hat.

“I was expecting you.” Pearl extended a hand to shake and rose to meet them. By unspoken agreement, no names were exchanged. “She’s told me about your discussion.” Pearl gestured for them to sit. “I wouldn’t normally have an escort for something like that, but I understand the reasons.”

Pearl was even more direct and plain-spoken than Louisa and their journalist friends. If she bothered with cosmetics, they were extremely subtle, and her short hair defied convention. She was tall and slender with an athletic body beneath a simple, unadorned dress.

Owen had no difficulty picturing her riding in a rodeo and doubted that she rode sidesaddle. He had heard of women wearing wide split skirts that nodded to propriety while allowing riding astride. While such things were considered scandalous in everyday society, he suspected that Pearl was the sort of woman who didn’t hold to rules unless they suited her.

Despite her outlaw reputation, he admired her independence.

“Louisa believes you can work the room.” Calvin kept his voice low although no one was near enough to overhear. “Play to their vanity to get them talking more than they should about their new secret projects.”

Pearl gave an unladylike snort. “Sadly, it doesn’t take much in most cases. If I stand still and look in their direction, they’ll think I’m fascinated by their brilliance and go on at length.”

Owen snickered. “You’re right about that. But they’re much more likely to brag and posture to you than to us. We’ll be close enough, of course, to hear everything. And while I understand that you’re quite capable of taking care of yourself, the attendees are an unsavory sort.”

Pearl fixed him with an amused look. “That’s my favorite type. Proper folks are stuffy and boring.”

“We’ll have weapons?—”

“So will I.”

Calvin nodded. “I didn’t think otherwise. I suspect that most of the attendees will, except perhaps for the society gawkers in the high seats who want to feel like they’re taking a risk without actually being in danger.”

Pearl made a derisive sound. “Posers, the lot of them.”

“We can brief you on who to look for and who to avoid,” Calvin said. “There may be some people at the ball who could be more useful to chat up than others, who we suspect may know more about the situation and might be tempted to brag to the right person.”

“Louisa said you’re looking into body snatchers who want to use pieces and parts. I’d heard rumors, but I thought they were just wild stories. She assured me that such things are possible. Imagine that.” Pearl shook her head.

“ Theoretically possible,” Owen emphasized. “But it’s a dangerous area of experimentation because those pieces have to come from somewhere.”

“Makes sense. What’s the plan?” Pearl asked as if this were a job of any sort and not infiltrating the Chicago underworld.

“Show up, see what you can find out, make the rounds, and leave before people take all their clothes off,” Calvin said.

“Aw, that’s no fun,” Pearl drawled with a broad wink.

“The event has quite the reputation for debauchery, so we want to be gone by midnight,” Owen noted. “After that point, anyone worth talking to will probably be too drunk to give us good information.”

“You boys know how to show a girl a good time,” she said in a wry tone. “All right. I’m in. Louisa set me up in a respectable boarding house and said she’d take care of getting me something to wear that would fit in. It’s not my usual social circle.”

Owen sent a silent thanks to Louisa despite knowing that the favor would be expected to be returned at some future date.

“Calvin and I will handle getting a carriage and driver,” Owen replied. “We’ll pick you up. We’re your bodyguards, sticking close enough to overhear. The carriage driver will be one of our people as well. Louisa assures me that the fights don’t usually break out before midnight, but we want to avoid attracting attention.”

“At a party where everyone goes to be seen? Should be interesting,” Pearl remarked.

“There will be much bigger fish vying for the limelight,” Calvin said.

“I hope you’re right. Okay, boys. I think I’ve got the plan. I’ll get the rest of the details from Louisa and see you the night of the party. Sounds like it’ll be a night to remember.”

Calvin and Owen hailed a carriage to take them back to the train station and waited until they were underway to compare notes.

“Do you think we can trust her?” Calvin asked. “I didn’t have the opportunity to get a read on anything that belonged to her.”

“Hell, no,” Owen replied. “Not on anything important. But we’re paying her to get what we need from the party, and from what Louisa says, Pearl will deliver on the contract. Which is all we need.”

The problem with working with informants was that in order to have information worth the pay, they needed to be hip-deep in illegal activities. Pearl wasn’t as complicit as some of their contacts—as far as Owen knew—but her reputation for self-preservation told him that trusting her to have their backs might be foolhardy if the circumstances went against them.

We deal with shady types all the time. Whatever happens, we’ll figure something out.

On the morning of the First Ward Ball, Calvin and Owen got a fresh shave and haircut. The event might not involve Chicago’s upper crust, but by all accounts, the criminals and mobsters who showed up valued style and flair.

“We don’t get to wear the fun stuff,” Calvin groused as he and Owen dressed for the ball. “These new tuxedos aren’t anything special. I like our regular tuxes better.”

“We’re supposed to be bodyguards. Hired help. Blending into the background, remember?” Owen elbowed Calvin. “And no matter what you wear, I’ll think you’re the handsomest man in the room.”

“You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Their job sometimes required mixing with government officials and powerful people. Calvin and Owen already owned tuxedos that could pass for anything up to a coronation. For tonight, they used formalwear of lesser quality, befitting the station of their personas. Bodyguards needed to look good enough not to embarrass their boss but still be able to fade into the background.

Winston waited for them in the dining room and nodded with approval when they emerged from their cabins. “Nicely done.”

Owen was pleased that he had managed to tie his own tie correctly for once.

“Let’s get the magic settled, shall we?” Winston beckoned for them to follow him to the table, where he had set out a bowl painted with runes, a chalice, and several small, polished black and red stones.

“I’m using black tourmaline and hematite to protect and conceal,” Winston told them. “You’ll carry those in a pocket. Nothing for anyone to notice, just pretty rocks. The potion is a bit more complicated. I won’t bore you with details. You can eat and drink without disturbing the enchantment, although I’d advise against copious alcohol for obvious reasons. As bodyguards, you won’t have that option anyhow.”

“How does this work?” Owen asked, a little nervous. They had used magic for concealment on other cases, but the ball would need to sustain their ruse for longer than a few minutes.

“The potion doesn’t actually change anything. It and the spell that goes with it just set a glamour so that anyone who looks at you sees someone else,” Winston explained. “It’s designed for the sort of social event where people move from group to group. I don’t know that it would hold up for days at a time, but it should be quite reliable for about eight hours.”

Owen checked his pocket watch. “That gives us until after midnight.”

Winston nodded. “I’d advise being gone before the very end of the spell. No telling how precise the timing might be.”

“What about other witches? Will they be able to tell?” Calvin asked.

Winston grimaced. “Hard to say. If they paid attention and suspected something, probably. It’s fairly low-energy magic even though it takes some skill to cast, so it shouldn’t draw attention to itself—that would defeat the whole purpose, after all.”

“People never look at the bodyguards,” Owen reminded Calvin. “We’re like wallpaper. Or like the serving staff.” Calvin didn’t look completely convinced, but he didn’t argue.

“I hired a carriage for tonight and have a livery uniform, so no one should notice me,” Winston said. “And I’ll stay as close as I can in case a quick exit is necessary. I have a charm I can wear to make my magic less apparent to anyone who can sense those things, and I’ll stay with the servants so no one of power should be nearby.”

“I’ll also be well-armed,” Winston added with a smirk. “Given the disreputable company you’ll be keeping.”

They each downed a small cup of the potion. It smelled like seaweed and tasted like spoiled lettuce. Owen managed not to gag and felt vindicated that Calvin also struggled to swallow the mixture.

“I don’t feel different,” Calvin said.

Owen’s stomach gurgled, and the skin on his face tingled like a bracing slap of aftershave at the barber’s. “Did it work?”

Winston grinned. “I’m not sure that you’ll be able to see your own glamour in the mirror, but look at each other and tell me if it was effective.”

“Holy shit!” Calvin glanced at Owen. “You aren’t you.”

Owen was surprised at the difference. “Neither are you.”

The spell’s effects were subtle. Hair and eye color remained the same, as well as the basic dimensions of Calvin’s face. But just enough changed that while a resemblance remained, he definitely looked like a different person.

“That’s just…weird,” Owen said.

“Thank you, Winston,” Calvin added. “Anything else we should know?”

“Stay away from witches if you possibly can,” Winston said. “Avoid mirrors, just in case. And like Cinderella, leave the party before the magic wears off.”

They pulled up to the boarding house right on time. The carriage seemed a bit posh for the neighborhood. Pearl waited for them just inside the doorway, transformed from the cowgirl they had met earlier. Her short hair had a sassy wave, and the opera cloak that hid her gown was elegant and understated.

“Thanks for the lift, boys,” she said as Calvin stepped out to help her board.

“We’ll have someone watching the entrance to the party all night, so they’ll be in place to get us out if something goes wrong.” Owen omitted mentioning that Winston would be keeping a remote eye by magic.

The Columbian Museum was lit up like Christmas for the ball. The large building had been built as the Palace of Fine Arts for the World’s Fair in 1893 and then repurposed to house a collection of anthropology, botany, geology, and zoology, with plenty of room for mingling among the exhibits.

After Calvin and Owen helped Pearl step down to the sidewalk, they fell back like good bodyguards. She held her head high, squared her shoulders, and swanned toward the entrance like she was to the manor born, presenting her ticket and indicating her security detail with aplomb to the doorman, who waved them inside.

Owen breathed a silent sigh of relief to have cleared the first hurdle. As far as he could tell, there was no magical perimeter set and no protective spells in place. That might be folly given the rogues’ gallery of partygoers, but it made sense given the likelihood of rival Mob family witches who might be in attendance.

The descriptions of the “palace” didn’t prepare Owen for the reality. The party stretched the length and breadth of the ground floor. Above that were the galleries, seating filled with overdressed onlookers. They leaned forward in their seats, eager to watch the riffraff through their opera glasses.

Here we go.

Pearl looked completely comfortable in the rowdy mix that included actors and actresses, madams and prostitutes, gangsters and police captains. Owen was glad Winston had chosen their tuxes, which helped them blend into the background among the servers and other bodyguards.

Guests, on the other hand, tended toward the flamboyant, with silk cummerbunds or waistcoats in vibrant colors for the men, spats, and top hats that were almost certain to be lost or discarded before sunrise.

Any truly respectable women were in the gallery, watching from a safe distance. The main floor belonged to the fancy ladies from the theater or the bordellos, who turned out in bright colors, revealing silk sheaths, feathered boas, and long beaded necklaces. They hung on the arms of their escorts, preening and posing.

Lines were already long at the various bars set up around the perimeter of the room. At one end, on a stage erected for the event, a small orchestra played the most popular tunes. Couples circled the dance floor. Their moves and the nearness of their bodies would have scandalized a regular gathering.

Loud conversation suggested that the early birds to the bar might have started the party before arriving. Owen could see how the ball could very quickly get out of hand, especially given its attendees.

Absent the usual understated police presence to keep the peace at a large event, Owen noted men in black suits around the perimeter, very clearly Mob muscle in place to keep the party from erupting into utter chaos.

Pearl played her role like she was born for the theater. She flirted shamelessly, glided from conversation to conversation, and asked just enough questions to get plenty of answers from men who were already liquored up and looking for admirers.

“—rumor has it that there’ll be more of those skyscrapers built this year,” one older man told Pearl, imparting the news like a state secret. “Mark my words—real estate is going to be hot next year!”

“—heard they’re gonna expand the El, too,” his companion chimed in, referring to Chicago’s famed elevated railroad. “Can’t decide whether that’s folly or brilliant, but people are pouring money into it like it’ll turn to gold.”

Pearl flattered and complimented, making a graceful exit once it was clear that the men had shared their most useful information.

She’d make a great spy. I bet Louisa already knows that.

Calvin’s gaze swept the room while Owen’s focus stayed close, watching for any immediate threat. Pearl evaded the advances of drunk men without drawing attention to the situation, slipping out of their grasp and retreating between her two guards when necessary to get the point across.

Fortunately, that didn’t require drawing a weapon—at least, not yet.

They made a complete circuit of the room in the first hour and slowly worked their way around a second time in the next as groupings changed and new guests appeared. Pearl had a gift for working a crowd, and Owen felt certain that she could have done well in the theater if she hadn’t preferred robbing banks.

The party resembled any other, except with guests who were louder and less constrained by the quiet norms of Victorian society. But as the third hour wore on, and the liquor took hold, bawdy dancing and inappropriate clinches on the dance floor became common.

That didn’t deter the gallery watchers, who seemed fascinated by the spectacle. Owen wondered if those observers would leave the event before all social order vanished and the bacchanal began. While arrests were rare given how enmeshed the police were with the Chicago crime families, the upper crust still did their best to avoid a whiff of scandal—at least, of the sexual sort, if not financial failings.

“Veer left,” Calvin murmured. “The two guys at the table at two o’clock on my right were with Luca Conti at the restaurant.”

That didn’t guarantee that the toughs would recognize Calvin and Owen, but it could lead to awkward questions if they did, given their new assumed roles.

A tug on Pearl’s sleeve and a jerk of Calvin’s head changed their direction, and they wove through the crowd sizing up the audience as they went.

“Those bodyguards at the end of the bar,” Owen said. “They have their sleeves hitched up. Do you see the stitches?”

Calvin looked that way and caught a glimpse before the men adjusted their jackets. Each of the men had a row of black stitches where it appeared as if a hand had been reattached.

“Guess there are at least two satisfied customers,” he replied, quiet enough that only Owen could hear him.

“I know you.” The man’s voice sounded at Owen’s elbow, and he tensed, turning to see one of the men from Barone’s restaurant, an older gentleman who had stayed in the background when they met with Luca Conti.

“I believe you’re mistaken,” Owen said with a cool tone and a fixed smile.

“Oh no. I’ve seen you before. That little bit of witchery doesn’t fool me.” His shrewd gaze swept over Owen and Calvin as Pearl continued to talk to her latest mark.

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Owen said quietly. “As you can see, we’re escorting the lady.”

“Either you lied before, or you’re lying now,” the man persisted. “Which is it?”

“Doing a favor for a friend,” Calvin added, not appearing the least frazzled. “Bending the rules for a good cause.”

“Whoever cast that spell knew what he was doing,” the man added. “Not the cheap cantrip you’d get from a fortune teller. So why are you really here, agents. Give me an answer that makes sense, or I let everyone know we’ve got some feds here.” He dropped his voice on the word, but Owen still winced.

“Trying to get to the bottom of some body snatching,” Calvin said evenly. “Heard anything?”

Owen saw a glimmer of recognition in the man’s eyes, but the set of his jaw suggested he didn’t intend to be helpful.

“Incoming,” Calvin murmured, spotting the big guy with the stitched wrist and his buddy heading their way. “We’ve got trouble.”

Pearl pulled a revolver from her skirts and fired it at the ceiling.

“Drinks are on me, folks!” she shouted.

The crowd surged, coming between them and the older man. Bodies blocked the two toughs, although they were tall enough to see over the mob, and one of them pointed in their direction.

That wouldn’t keep the older man from following them for long, and it would get ugly when people reached the bar and discovered no one had paid their tab.

Owen grabbed Pearl by the wrist as Calvin plowed their way through the crowd, most of whom were either still dancing and oblivious to what was going on—despite the gunshot—or crowding toward the bartenders.

Now I know how a salmon feels swimming upstream.

They shoved and jostled their way through the mayhem, and Owen felt certain that at one point, Pearl deployed a hat pin to clear laggards out of the way.

Once they made it out of the doors and back to the street, Owen breathed in relief before he spotted the two bodyguards still on their tail. He and the others took off running toward where they were to meet Winston. The big men gave chase.

Pearl hitched up her skirts, keeping pace with them as they ran. They didn’t have far to go, but the block was nearly deserted at this hour except for the entrance to the social hall as party guests arrived and left.

Owen hadn’t expected the toughs to pursue them and wondered what their orders were. Nothing good. They had to recognize us, which means someone was worried we’d show up.

The henchmen were closing the gap, and Owen worried that their luck had run out. The sharp clatter of hooves right ahead of them raised his spirits as their carriage shot out of an alley ahead of them with Winston snapping the reins.

He ran the team straight at their pursuers, and a twitch of his hand and magic sent their guns flying.

“Get in!” The carriage barely stopped rolling as they piled inside, and Winston headed for their pursuers, forcing the toughs to scramble not to be run over.

“That was…interesting,” Pearl said as the carriage headed away at a fast clip. Owen’s ghosts kept watch behind them while Calvin looked out the windows, but no one seemed to be following.

“We’ve got trouble.” Calvin peered out the window on his side. “Two men on horseback, closing fast.”

Their carriage sped up, letting them know that Winston saw the threat.

A shot rang out, rocking the carriage as it tore into the top right corner.

“Get down!” Owen dropped from the seat to the floor.

“To hell with that!” Before either man could react, Pearl opened the door, hooking one arm around the curtains to keep from falling out, and opened fire with her free hand.

“Are you insane?” Calvin dove to grab her ankles so she didn’t get thrown clear.

Owen opened the door on the other side, using it as cover to fire past the hinges. At this hour, the streets were nearly deserted, but gunshots were bound to attract attention.

Their pursuers fell back and veered off, perhaps not expecting a fight. Once they were sure they were no longer being chased, Pearl and Owen crawled back inside.

“You two are absolutely insane.” Calvin directed a glare at Owen, who guessed it was for taking such a crazy risk.

“Worked, didn’t it?” Pearl had a triumphant note in her tone. Owen bet it was the most fun either of them had all evening.

“After all that, did we get anything useful?” Owen hadn’t always heard Pearl’s conversations in detail.

“Replacing amputated limbs isn’t normal cocktail party conversation,” Pearl remarked. “But I managed to work it in, asking if they had heard of such things and if they were true. They all seemed to have heard the gossip but didn’t know more—or claimed not to.”

“We know for sure now that at least two of the doctor’s ‘projects’ lived through the procedure,” Calvin pointed out. “But who were they working for? And how did they know to recognize us?”

“How about the miracle doctor doing the surgery? What did you hear about him?” Calvin asked Pearl. “I’d think he’d be the toast of the town.”

Pearl pursed her lips as she thought. “That got interesting. Everyone mentioned Gordon and his stage show, but when I asked about someone using the ideas in real life, they clammed up. The hemming and hawing told me they knew more, but no one wanted to get into the details. And given the two henchmen and the riders, clearly someone did.”

Owen swore under his breath. “I was afraid of that.”

Pearl shot him a crafty grin. “Don’t worry—I didn’t walk away empty-handed. One of the men knew someone who had ‘foot surgery,’ and it didn’t sound like bunions. He seemed impressed, although he said the recovery time was longer than usual.”

“If you’re getting a whole new foot from a cadaver, I would imagine so,” Calvin muttered.

“I couldn’t get more details on the process out of him, but someone else chimed in about hoping they could put one of his men’s hands right after an accident,” Pearl said. “The general buzz was very excited about new treatments and remarkable science but all very hush-hush. I did hear one name—Dr. Jeremiah Humphries.”

“Oh?” Calvin and Owen exchanged a glance.

“He’s the professor who has an academic presentation on transplantation coming up,” Owen said. “Maybe he’s involved with more than theory.”

“That older man with the crooked nose said Humphries was a miracle worker, but the man he was standing with elbowed him, and he shut up. From the look on his face, I got the feeling he said more than he intended. Trying to flatter a lady gets them every time.” She grinned.

“Looks like we’ll be going to his presentation,” Calvin replied. “Was there anything more?”

“They were talking about someone they knew who died from a bad heart, and I said that maybe someday doctors would be able to replace hearts like parts from a kit,” Pearl said. “The old man said he thought it could happen, and sooner than most people think. I suspect he’d already been drinking, and it loosened his tongue. His buddy quickly changed the subject.”

“Good work,” Calvin said. “We’ve got a name at least and some corroboration for our suspicions. Anything else?”

Pearl frowned. “I got the impression that the local Mob families have an uneasy peace. Just some of the things that were muttered, the sidelong glares—nothing specific, but there seemed to be tension a little close to the surface.”

“The families always vie for position, but sometimes the rivalry heats up more than others,” Owen mused. “If one family could lock up this miracle-working doctor, their people could survive injuries with replacements that other groups’ soldiers couldn’t. That would be a definite advantage.”

“Why would the doctor agree to that when he could sell his services to the highest bidder?” Calvin asked.

“It’s the Mob. They don’t generally give people a lot of choices,” Owen remarked.

By the time they reached Pearl’s boarding house, they had exhausted their insights into the evening’s conversations.

“Thank you,” Calvin said as they helped her out of the carriage. Owen made a quick reconnaissance to ensure no one lurked in the shadows.

“That was fun—it’s not every day I get to hobnob at a fancy big city party,” Pearl replied.

“Are you staying in Chicago for a while?” Calvin asked.

“Haven’t decided, but it won’t be for too long,” Pearl told them. “Places to go, people to see, jobs to handle. Louisa can get ahold of me if you need me. It’s been fun, boys. Thanks for the memories.”

With that, she headed inside. They waited long enough to make sure no one followed, then Winston headed them back to the train station.

“Was that worth it?” Owen asked.

Calvin shrugged. “I’d say yes. We didn’t expect to have the rogue doc handed to us on a platter. Now we have a name. Might be him, might not, but it’s a starting point. We know a little more about the local Mob politics and their witches. And Pearl might tell Louisa something she forgot to spill to us, to stay on Louisa’s good side.”

“Did you mind leaving the party early?” Owen asked, curious about how his somewhat more respectable partner viewed the evening.

“Oh God, no!” Calvin looked horrified. “I’ve seen a lot undercover since I’ve been with the Service and infiltrated some real rats’ nests. As long as people are adults and participating freely, they can play whatever games they want, but don’t involve me.”

Owen chuckled. “I thought you might say that.”

Calvin shot him a look. “Please tell me you didn’t want to stay.”

Even at his most unattached, that kind of scene had never attracted Owen. Add in a mix of mobsters, criminals, and witches, and it doused his libido like a cold shower.

“Not my scene. Although the band was pretty good,” Owen remarked.

“I’ll give you that. Some people had hors d’oeuvres that looked tasty, but we weren’t going to get any,” Calvin added. “I’m a sucker for those little pastry things. I could eat the whole tray.”

“I bet if you asked Winston nicely, he could either whip up a batch for you or order from wherever the party was catered,” Owen suggested.

“I think I will. Even if he snickers.”

Owen looked out the carriage window. “If the police in Chicago weren’t on the take, they could have swooped in and netted a lot of their wanted list just from the guests.”

“It was a who’s who of Chicago’s underworld, plus the movers and shakers who have mutually beneficial arrangements,” Calvin observed. “On one hand, it’s a travesty to have Aldermen and Mob bosses carrying on like that. I don’t care about the minor criminals and shady ladies. Let them have their fun. But it certainly makes clear who has the power in the city.”

“Not like that’s a secret,” Owen pointed out. “And it’s not our problem for long.”

“Maybe—but if the ability to replace missing body parts catches on in the underworld in Chicago, you can bet it will spread to other cities. Mob families will fight over it, along with other powerful factions,” Calvin said. “We’ve got to stop it here before that can happen.”

“Do you think there’s a legitimate use for the technique?” Owen asked, feeling pensive after the way the night had gone. “Good people get hurt too. If the bodies are donated willingly and everything is done above board, it could save farmers and factory workers from the breadline if they get hurt on the job.”

“I see where you’re going with it, but I can’t imagine the Church or other interests supporting it wholesale,” Calvin replied. “The priests and ministers are in a stir just letting medical school learn anatomy from corpses. Even when people could benefit, I don’t think it would go over well.”

Owen sighed. “I suspect you’re right. Of course, even if we shut down what’s happening here, someone else, somewhere else, will pick up and start over, and only the wealthy and the mobsters will benefit.”

“That’s above our pay grade,” Calvin reminded him. “Let’s bust these bastards and get the hell out of town.”

The carriage jolted, and Winston rapped on the compartment, three quick, three slow—the signal that they were being followed.

“Shit,” Owen muttered. “Looks like they found us again.”

“Or someone else was looking for us.” Calvin drew his gun. “But this time, stay in the damn carriage. I don’t want to scrape you off the pavement.”

At this hour, the streets were mostly empty. Owen had spotted a few hired carriages, but even the police vehicles had been few and far between. Too late for most people to be out, too early even for the garbage collectors and delivery drivers, no one but robbers and revelers had cause to be about.

The horse picked up its pace. Calvin and Owen reached for the straps that hung from the ceiling and held on tight to keep from being thrown from their seats.

They had their guns ready, although Owen sincerely hoped they could avoid more gunfire. He and Calvin peered from their windows, trying to glimpse their pursuers.

A featureless black carriage followed them, whose driver had a scarf pulled up and his hat pulled down to shield his face.

“At least they’re not on horseback this time,” Calvin observed. “We got lucky that we stayed ahead of the last two—they could have tried to crash us.”

“But with a carriage, we’ve got no idea how many are inside,” Owen pointed out. “More than two, less than eight?”

“One bright side—if they had magic, they wouldn’t be chasing us,” Calvin remarked, nearly flying off the bench as Winston took a sharp turn.

“Unless they’re herding us.” That ominous possibility had occurred to him as they careened through the streets.

The men in the carriage didn’t open fire, which made Owen wonder what their pursuers wanted.

Are they in league with the two men who chased us or working separately?

“Maybe,” Calvin allowed. “But Winston has magic. I’m betting he’s already figured something out and is letting them chase us right into his trap.”

City streets weren’t made for high speeds. Owen didn’t lose his seat, but he swore that his hips and ass would never be the same again as he bounced roughly, barely avoiding hitting the ceiling on the worst jolts. One particular lurch sent him hard against the side of the carriage.

That’s gonna bruise.

“I think that’s St. Michael’s Church ahead,” Calvin said. “It’s one of the most haunted places in Chicago. Owen—summon the spirits. Winston brought us here for you to call in the cavalry.”

Even before Calvin spoke, Owen sensed ghostly energy. He opened himself to his abilities, reaching out to ask for help.

“We’re being chased by bad men. They want to hurt us. They’ve killed a lot of people. We’re trying to stop the body thieves. Please—help us get away.”

The temperature in the carriage dropped. Owen had closed his eyes to concentrate, and in his mind’s eye, ghosts gathered around them, moving and twisting like fog.

“Stop the other carriage so we can get away,” Owen sent to their spectral protectors.

They saw a flash of light and heard a loud crack and the terrified shrieks of horses. The ghosts swept in like the tide, surrounding the pursuers until Owen couldn’t make out the outlines of the carriage behind them, only the shapes of the panicked horses as they broke free from their traces.

The ghosts are angry. They might not have been able to get revenge on whoever killed them, but they’ll take it out on the ruffians for good measure.

Winston didn’t waste time, urging their team on to full speed. A glance out the back assured Owen that no one followed.

“Tell the ghosts thank you.” Calvin still held on for dear life as the carriage hurtled through the night.

Owen sent his thanks and let his connection fade. His heart pounded, and his hands clenched into fists as he held onto his seat. A sheen of sweat covered his back as if he had been part of the ghostly attack.

“Owen? Are you okay?”

Calvin’s worry helped to pull Owen from his thoughts. He realized he was shaking with the raw energy of the ghosts’ emotions.

“Yeah. I will be.” His voice sounded unsteady, even to his own ears.

“What just happened?”

Owen took a few deep breaths to still himself. “I think Winston used magic to break a wheel or two and snap the traces to set the horses loose on the other carriage. Then the ghosts attacked. I didn’t intend for them to kill…but I didn’t count on how angry they were or how much they needed vengeance. I’m pretty sure whoever was in that carriage didn’t survive.”

“The people chasing us probably would have killed us if they caught us,” Calvin reminded him. “I can’t say I’m sorry if that was the choice.”

The carriage slowed from its breakneck speed. Owen let go of the strap, but his fingers cramped from the tight grip. He heard the concern in Calvin’s voice and appreciated the absolution he offered, but the raw hatred he had felt from the ghosts still made him vibrate with its intensity.

“I know,” Owen managed. “But…those ghosts had been waiting to make someone pay for their deaths. I should have been more careful. They could have just as easily turned on us.”

“But they didn’t,” Calvin said in a gentle tone. “You and Winston saved us. Take the win.”

It took longer to get back to the station, and Owen guessed Winston had taken a circuitous route to ensure there were no other pursuers.

Calvin and Owen insisted on going with Winston to the stable, given that it was well past midnight. Fortunately, the barn was only a block from the train, but they didn’t want to take any chances after tonight’s chase. Winston paid the man almost double and apologized for tiring the horses and the damage to the carriage from the bullets. They walked to the Pullman on high alert, guns in hand and Winston primed for magic, but no one tried to stop them.

“That’s far too much excitement for one night,” Calvin said once the door was locked behind them.

Owen poured brandy for all three of them and motioned for Winston to join them. They all needed for the adrenaline to fade, and Owen suspected it would take more than one shot of alcohol to slow his pounding heart.

“To us.” Owen raised his glass in a toast. “One hell of a team.”

“To us,” Calvin and Winston echoed.

“Quite a memorable end to the evening,” Winston said, although his usual jocularity sounded forced.

“That was some fantastic magic and driving,” Calvin praised.

“All in a night’s work,” Winston deflected with a smile.

“Who was following us? The Mob? Which faction? Humphries’s people? Someone we don’t even know about yet?” Now that the danger was past, Owen felt his anger surge. “Were both sets of pursuers working for the same people, or is there more than one group out to get us?”

“Whoever was in charge sent henchmen, not witches, so that’s telling,” Calvin mused. “Either they didn’t realize we also had some tricks up our sleeves, or they badly underestimated us.”

“I’m all for being underestimated.” Winston sipped his brandy.

“It definitely has benefits,” Owen agreed. “We know about Humphries, but there’s nothing to indicate he knows about us. The Contis are, at least in theory, on our side. The Russos don’t have a reason to go after us and would probably avoid the risk of angering the Contis. Then again, it could be someone who caught wind that the Secret Service was poking around and wanted to let us know we aren’t welcome.”

“I don’t know if the aftermath will make the newspaper, but I will check when the morning edition comes out.” Winston finished his brandy and checked the time.

“We’re likely to meet ourselves on our way to breakfast if we don’t go to bed soon,” he said, managing a tired joke. Winston was usually unflappable, but Owen thought he heard an edge of tiredness in the valet’s voice.

Magic takes a toll, and he saved our asses. He’s probably exhausted.

“I’m all for that.” Calvin caught Owen’s eye in agreement that they should all turn in.

“See you in the morning. Sleep well.” Winston collected their glasses and took them to the galley.

Calvin turned the lights down and took Owen’s hand as they headed to bed. “Are you okay?”

Owen leaned against him, taking comfort in his solid frame and the warmth of his strong arms. “We got back to the train. And for now, we’re safe and together. We’ll figure it all out in the morning.”